


Improbe Amor

by Irnstark



Series: I will follow you into the dark [1]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Angst, Canon Era, Enjolras Is Bad At Feelings, Enjolras is hurt, Grantaire Angst, Grantaire is a Mess, M/M, Mutual Pining, One Shot, Unresolved Romantic Tension, grantaire takes care of him
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-09
Updated: 2020-07-09
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:13:35
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25163710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irnstark/pseuds/Irnstark
Summary: 1. Passion.'I am not strong enough to allow myself the possibility to break, and yet I believe in you because I know that if you were to fall, I would follow right behind.'But he was hopeless. And it hurt, it hurt like hell, to be an Icarus trying to reach the sun. To know that you’re seeking the unreachable and to be unable to let go.Grantaire gave his hands a light squeeze and slowly stood up.“Improbe amor,” he whispered “quid non mortalia pectora cogis.”“Virgil” Enjolras said softly, and Grantaire missed the glimmer that crossed his eyes, missed the way his voice trembled as he spoke again “he sang of a tragedy.”
Relationships: Enjolras/Grantaire (Les Misérables)
Series: I will follow you into the dark [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1822939
Comments: 2
Kudos: 18





	Improbe Amor

Grantaire proceeded to open the third bottle of wine in two hours, reaching for it blindly from his seat at the large wooden table in the center of the room. His usual seat in the back had turned into a clothes hanger for everyone who came back from the street soaking wet and needed their clothes to dry quickly next to the fire. In less than one hour, they were slipping the damp clothes back on, running downstairs, and then out in the cold Parisian lanes. It was a particularly busy day for his friends, everyone was running around, talking, writing, arguing and he had been caught in the middle of it all. He had hoped to spend a serene evening at the Musain, drinking and perhaps discussing with his friends, mocking them for their bizarre and far too bold ideals, instead he had happened to witness what Courfeyrac had defined _the turning point we have been waiting for_ , the spark that had finally started the fire and really, Grantaire felt like being stuck in a fire, relentless and indomitable flames flickering all around him while he set there, watching. He always watched, always followed every movement, listened to every word despite how drunk he did get at times. Some voices that he just couldn’t help but listen to, some voices couldn’t help but draw his attention. It was the case of Courfeyrac, his tone so warm and radiant whenever he spoke, even though Grantaire couldn’t say he really _listened_ to him all the time. Joly as well could always catch his attention, he never failed to make him smile. So many voices, and yet that evening they all sounded the same. He felt like a moth flying around little glimpses of light, passing from one to another, enjoying the light and the warmth of the first one for a while until it bored him and so he’d switch to the next.

Grantaire tried to listen to whatever Combeferre was saying now, he had just slipped his still slightly damp shirt back on, meaning that he was about to leave soon. Grantaire observed him. He was talking fast, but not too fast to lose the attention of his friends. They nodded at him, all of them lost in deep thoughts, sometimes muttered something under their breaths. Grantaire took a sip of wine while he watched the young man walking around the room, trying his best to reassure his friends and answer their questions. Bahorel was asking something now, Grantaire couldn’t exactly tell what but by the way he was frowning, tilting his head to the side as he listened to Combeferre’s answer, he got the feeling that it probably wasn’t anything good. A glimpse of light shone through the window and a few moments later the hoarse echo of claps of thunder shook the room, making them go quiet for a couple of seconds. Then everyone’s attention was back to Combeferre. Grantaire grinned at the young man’s evident struggle but made no move to provide him any help whatsoever. God, he couldn’t if he wanted to. He was far too intoxicated, far too disinterested in whatever the hell they were discussing, and besides, his thoughts were lost somewhere else, in that labyrinth of streets and alleys right outside the café. Lost, was the correct word. _Can one be lost if following someone somewhere one knows nothing of?_ Like a moth wondering in the darkness, struggling to reach the light. He kept watching as Combeferre walked to the side of the table, leaning down to read something written on the dozens of papers scattered all over it, loosening the collar of his shirt absently.

Grantaire almost didn’t notice when the door of the small room flew open for what he thought was the hundredth time that evening, almost didn’t notice how everyone’s eyes had moved from Combeferre to someone else. But as soon as he looked up from his half-empty bottle of wine his attention was quickly caught once again.

“Enjolras. Thank God you’re here” Combeferre muttered, approaching him with a relieved face. “Take these off— you are soaked.” It was true, Enjolras looked like he had just swam across the Seine with his clothes on and he looked just as tired. His blond locks were falling messily around his face, darkened by the rain and he seemed paler than usual. He started to unbutton his coat, his eyes scanned the room quickly and then they were back on Combeferre. He hadn’t even acknowledged Grantaire, not that he was expecting him to. Enjolras— just like the rest of them— must have been used to have him there at that point, like a ghost, a presence, and an annoying one at times, considering how much he enjoyed to mock or provoke his friends. Of course, he never spoke maliciously, it was merely to have fun, an affectionate kind of teasing. However, most of the time, his behavior seemed to infuriate Enjolras and honestly, Grantaire didn’t know why he hadn’t asked him to leave yet. Every meeting ended with a stern look from the young leader, sometimes a rebuke, sometimes he wouldn’t even bother to tell Grantaire to shut up, he would just ignore him. And apparently, that was the tactic he was going for that day as well. Well, at least he wasn’t screaming anymore. Grantaire took another sip of wine and winced at the memory of the day before, at how mad Enjolras had gotten at him. He felt his stomach drop. “You crossed the line, _mon ami_ ” Joly had told him, with a sympathetic smile. And it was right, Grantaire had pushed a little bit too far, and Enjolras was only human, although Grantaire still had a hard time believing so. He had snapped, raised his voice so high that for a moment the whole room had gone quiet. Enjolras had never screamed at him like that before, but Grantaire had always known it was only a matter of time. And so each day as he listened to his leader’s speeches he would torment himself thinking _I wonder how long it will take,_ considering his next words carefully, choosing them to be just a little too insolent, just a little too subtle and provocative, waiting for that reaction that had threatened the tension between them for so long now. That’s what he deserved, after all, and that’s all he would ever get from Enjolras. And so he figured that maybe, after all, hatred was better than utter indifference.

Grantaire leaned back in his chair, watching quietly as Enjolras got rid of his coat and his vest and hung them over the back of a chair, distractingly. He was listening to his friends but his attention was on the papers on the table. His slender fingers moved over them, flipped them over a couple of times before to put them back down. Grantaire frowned. Were those bruises on the back of his hands? He blinked a few times, but before he could bring his eyes to focus Enjolras had already pulled his hands away from the table. He was listening, surrounded by his fellow men, all waiting for his words, all watching him with newfound trust and expectation and _God_ , wasn’t he regal. Wasn’t he regal, even disheveled like that? Grantaire let his eyes linger on his frame longer than he had intended to. But could anyone blame him? He had been drinking for the whole night and he had just started to realize how thirsty he actually was.

Eventually, Enjolras straightened his back and looked up with a deep frown. “We have been misled. None of these names are correct” he nodded towards the papers, and Grantaire felt his ears buzz at the sound of his voice “I have followed our lead and it brought me to a dead end.”

“What are you talking about?” Combeferre asked with a groan and Enjolras gave him a firm yet encouraging look.

“I have a new lead. Joly, Bahorel, you go to this address and take your guns with you. Be careful, don’t shoot if it isn’t strictly necessary.” Enjolras had started to give orders. He told each man what to do, answering their questions firmly, and even Combeferre now seemed more confident, following Enjolras around, making sure everyone knew exactly what to do. _And finally, there it is, the brightest light._ Grantaire, who had given up on trying to focus his attention anywhere else than Enjolras, noticed that his clothes were still wet. Enjolras hadn’t even taken his shirt off, he hadn’t stopped to sit by the fire, nor he had asked for a cloth to dry up his hair. Instead, he stood proud and gracious, like a perfectly sculpted statue, an adonis with eyes the color of the raging sea Grantaire was sure he could have drowned in. _Why does he even ask them to do as he says_? _How could anyone look him in the eyes and deny him his wishes?_ Grantaire felt his eyelids grow heavier, his head slowly slipped down the palm of his hand and he almost missed it when Enjolras called his name.

“ _Grantaire_ ,” he repeated “quit drinking and come here”

“What is it that you need, _mon ange_?” Combeferre giggled quietly at Grantaire’s drunken words but Enjolras didn’t look bothered in the slightest. Instead, he crossed the room with firm steps until he reached the corner where Grantaire was sitting. Grantaire looked up at him and for a second he thought that maybe that room had really caught on fire. Suddenly, he felt very aware of the flames crackling behind him and he thought that maybe, just maybe a spark had found its way thought his clothes and then right through his chest. Yes, that must be it. There was no other explanation for the sudden warmth that invested his body the moment he met eyes with Enjolras. _A moth burnt by the sun_ he thought, _what a tragic image_.  
  
“Can you check if any of these names happen to be on our list?” Enjolras asked him, his voice was low, firm, and Grantaire straightened his back because Enjolras was asking _him_ to do something _helpful_? After what had happened the day before? That either meant that he had run out of options or that maybe he thought that Grantaire wasn’t a complete good-for-nothing, after all. The former, more likely, but going through a list of names? Grantaire could do that.  
  
“Anything for you, Apollo” Grantaire said with a bittersweet smile. God only knew how much he meant it.  
Enjolras nodded, placing two pieces of paper in front of him, and once again Grantaire frowned. He then decided to blame the alcohol for his next move and reached for Enjolras' hand. Enjolras looked somehow taken aback. He stared down at the fingers wrapped around his wrist and Grantaire did the same, slowly realizing what he had done.  
  
“What is it, Grantaire?” He asked, and this time he didn’t sound annoyed, or angry, he didn’t sound bitter nor sarcastic he just sounded... tired. Tired of Grantaire’s bullshit, perhaps. The thought made Grantaire’s breath itch in his throat and his grip loosened just a bit around Enjolras’ wrist.  
  
“Your hands” Grantaire said, eloquently.  
  
“What about my hands?” Enjolras was looking at him, Grantaire could feel his piercing eyes on him but he didn’t dare to look up. Enjolras wasn’t pulling away. Why wasn’t he pulling away?  
  
“You’re bleeding.”  
  
Combeferre was ogling them from the other side of the room, he was the only one left in there apart from Grantaire and Enjolras. Grantaire felt suddenly very aware of the emptiness of the café and once again he felt as if he were out of breath. He let go of Enjolras’ wrist and finally met his eyes.  
  
“You need to bandage it”  
  
“I’m fine” Enjolras said but Grantaire shook his head.  
  
“It could get infected if you don’t treat it now and it will hurt more in the morning. Trust me, Apollo, I know what I’m talking about” he gave him a small smile and he thought he must have looked miserable. God, he did sound so terribly miserable. A half-drunk fool with a broken heart, that’s what he was. _Pathetic,_ he told himself _you’re also pathetic_. Enjolras hesitated, looking at him with the same distant, unreachable beauty of an angel sculpted in stone. Stone... his heart of stone fitted him so well. Grantaire considered it and then he found himself being in the wrong. No, Enjolras didn’t have a heart of stone. His heart was alive, pulsing, vibrating with passion and zeal, it simply was never meant to beat for him. Not the way it beat for his friends, that Enjolras admired so much, not the way it beat for his ideals, not the way it beat for anything or anyone he loved. God, where did he put his bottle? He really, really needed to get it back—  
  
“Grantaire?” Enjolras called, and Grantaire figured he had got lost in his thoughts once again.  
  
“Let me bandage it for you?” he found himself asking “and then I will check your list.”  
  
“Are you blackmailing me?” Enjolras asked with an amused tone and Grantaire smiled at him.  
  
“Never. I’m just trying to help.” Enjolras nodded and walked away for a moment. Combeferre and Grantaire exchanged a look but Grantaire was fast to focus his attention somewhere else. He quickly read the list of names that Enjolras had given him as he waited for him to come back, checking some names out. He frowned as he recognized one, then two, three, and at least half of the names written on that list. What the hell was Enjolras planning to do? Why would he have anything to do with such people? When Enjolras walked back in the room he was holding a roll of bandages and a damp cloth. Grantaire moved one of the chairs closer to the fireplace and gestured for him to sit down. Enjolras took his seat right next to him and Grantaire turned around and hesitantly reached for his hand. It was awkward, really, and once again Grantaire couldn’t bring himself to look at him in the eyes. He took the damp cloth Enjolras had brought with him and slowly started to press on the bruises and cuts on Enjolras’ hands.  
  
“What happened?” Grantaire asked, unable to bear the silence. He didn’t know if he was in the position to _ask_ anything, truth be told. Not after what had happened the day before. Part of him had come to the conclusion that, with his brilliant speech, he had pulled the last straw. He considered himself lucky that Enjolras hadn’t kicked him out the café that day, because honestly, Grantaire hadn’t expected anything less than that. Maybe he was just waiting for the right time to tell him that he was done with him. It was only a matter of time, right? Grantaire felt as if he was spiraling closer and closer to the flame that would have burnt him for good.  
  
“Take a wild guess, R” Enjolras sighed and Grantaire didn’t like the way his chest warmed far too easily at the use of his nickname.  
  
“You usually don’t get physical” Grantaire said softly. He looked around and reached for his bottle of wine and he heard Enjolras sigh again.  
  
“Grantaire—”  
  
“Let me handle this” Grantaire told him with a small smile. He poured some wine on the cloth and Enjolras muttered a soft “oh”, watching him as he worked. When Grantaire pressed the cloth against his scraped knuckles Enjolras winced and pulled his hand away, out of instinct. He flushed and quickly pressed it back on Grantaire’s one though, clearing his throat.  
  
“You ruined a perfectly good cloth” Enjolras said and there was no bite in his words, but of course they were back to talk about Grantaire’s excellent ability to fuck things up, in a way or another. Grantaire gave him a bittersweet smile, still working on Enjolras’ soft and slim fingers.  
  
“What can I say, Apollo. You move hearts and inspire people. I ruin anything good life sends in my direction”. _You’re right to blame me. We aren’t meant to work._  
  
They stayed quiet for a while. Grantaire’s attention was on Enjolras’ hands, he made sure to disinfect each scratch, made sure to be as careful and gentle as possible, even though his vision was still blurred by the alcohol. He wondered if Enjolras would have told him to hurry up, because he didn’t have time to waste and Grantaire was taking an awful lot to treat those scratches. But he figured that this was, perhaps, the one and only time he would get the chance to have Enjolras so close to him, the one and only time he would get the chance to hold his hand, and he wasn’t going to waste the opportunity to make the most of it. The sound of Combeferre walking around the room made Grantaire snap back to reality.  
  
“Enj?”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“What is that list of names you gave me for?” Enjolras sighed softly.  
  
“You would know if you actually paid attention during these meetings”  
  
“I do pay attention” Grantaire quickly said, and he finally looked at him in the eyes. “Just... not to everyone”  
  
“Do you ever pay attention to me?”  
  
Grantaire stared at him with wide eyes. Had Enjolras really asked him that? Really, after every time he caught him staring during his speeches, after every time Grantaire had come up to him to discuss them, and— _fine_ , maybe he only came up to him to argue _against_ what Enjolras said, but he had always paid attention to each word that had ever left Enjolras’ lips. Could he really be this oblivious?  
  
“I don’t know, R, I—” Enjolras looked as if he was about to say something but eventually decided against it, as if he knew he was engaging in a lost battle, and took a deep breath instead “No one infuriates me the way you do”  
  
Grantaire felt his stomach drop. His hands stilled and he dropped his gaze to the floor, hating the way his heart was beating fast in his chest, hating the way he felt as if one last word from Enjolras would have broken him, definitively. What was he expecting, really? He knew this was coming. God, he knew it full well, he had prepared himself for this. But hearing the tone of Enjolras’ voice made him shiver nonetheless.  
  
“I thought the first place was reserved to the monarchy” Grantaire slipped his signature smirk on as his last defense. He forced his hands to go back to work and he started wrapping the bandages around Enjolras’ fingers.  
  
“That is different”  
  
“How is it different?” Grantaire questioned, looking at him “Don’t you hate it with your whole heart?”  
  
“I do—”  
  
“And you hate me” Grantaire said, and he didn’t matter how many times he repeated those words to himself, it hurt nonetheless, each time. “I don’t see how it could be different.”  
  
Enjolras stared at him. The room was wrapped in silence, Combeferre must have left at one point, Grantaire figured, because the only audible sound, apart from the flames crackling in the fireplace was his and Enjolras’ soft breathing. Enjolras was looking at him with his eyebrows knitted together and a look that Grantaire couldn’t quite interpret.  
  
“What’s the matter, Apollo?” He asked softly, letting his finger linger just a little more on Enjolras’ soft skin as he finished his work.  
  
“I never said I hated you” Enjolras’ words were careful, as soft as a whisper and Grantaire’s already clouded mind was trying hard to understand what was going on at that moment. He shrugged, forcing himself to let go of Enjolras’ hands.  
  
“You didn’t have to. You made it as clear as the morning sky”  
  
“Your sky must be very clouded then, R” Enjolras gave him a small, sad smile and Grantaire allowed himself to look at him, _really_ look at him this time. His hair had started to dry, messy golden curls fell softly against his rosy skin, his eyes were staring at him intensely, with such attention that it almost made Grantaire shy away.  
  
“The... the names on your list” Grantaire said, unable to hold his gaze, “You know these men are ruthless and very powerful, don’t you?”  
  
“I think I messed up, R” Enjolras said, ignoring his words, but Grantaire was stubborn and he was determined to avoid whatever kind of serious and far too dangerous conversation Enjolras had in mind.  
  
“Do me a favor and leave them alone? I know you have your plan, your revolution and all—”  
  
“Grantaire”  
  
“—but you really don’t want to mess with this kind of people, trust me, it isn’t worth it—”  
  
“Grantaire—”  
  
“ _Apollo_ ” Grantaire said with a sigh and gave him a helpless, sad smile. “Please. Don’t.”  
  
Enjolras stared at him, once again. Oh, Grantaire felt so close to burning. So close to breaking, right in front of him, so close he could feel his heart being ripped apart slowly, painfully. _Just say it already. I hate you. I hate you and I don’t want to ever see you again. Please, I am begging you. Say it, burn me once and for all and I will leave._  
Enjolras reached for his hands, instead. It felt so strange, so... wrong, in a way. The way his fingers were trembling, the way he was holding his breath, the way he was avoiding his eyes. Grantaire felt as if the whole scene of a few minutes before was being replayed right before his eyes, the only difference being that now the roles had been switched. _What are you doing?_ He felt tears at the corner of his eyes. And god, maybe Enjolras did have a heart of stone, after all. Grantaire had never sought pity, not once in his life. He had detested each pitiful look, each pitiful smile anyone had ever reserved him. But he couldn’t take this anymore. Hell, he was ready to beg for mercy, beg for this torture to end.  
  
“Can I ask you something?” And Grantaire nodded, because _no_ wasn’t an option, not with Enjolras.  
  
“You don’t believe the revolution will change anything”  
  
“I don’t”  
  
“And you don’t believe in the ideals we are willing to fight and die for”  
  
“I don’t”  
  
“Then why are you still here?”

Grantaire scoffed, softly.

 _Because I believe in you._ He couldn't say that, Enjolras hated when he said that. But that was the truth, as simple as that, and how could one even begin to explain the truth? _I believe in your strength and your passion. I believe in your feelings because they are sincere, they are pure in a way that leaves me defenseless. I believe in you because you believe in something, and you do it truthfully, unconditionally, because you burn like the brightest flame and you crash over me just like a wave. You consume me, and all I can do is watch, reflecting your light like the moon reflects the sun and I know that is all I will ever be, that is all I will ever be able to do because I am not like you. I do not dare to believe in anything because I already see the tragedy beyond the myth. I am not strong enough to allow myself the possibility to break, and yet I believe in you because I know that if you were to fall, I would follow right behind._  
But he was hopeless. And it hurt, it hurt like hell, to be an Icarus trying to reach the sun. To know that you’re seeking the unreachable and to be unable to let go.  
Grantaire gave his hands a light squeeze and slowly stood up.  
  
“ _Improbe amor,_ ” he whispered “ _quid non mortalia pectora cogis._ ”  
  
“Virgil” Enjolras said softly, and Grantaire missed the glimmer that crossed his eyes, missed the way his voice trembled as he spoke again “he sang of a tragedy.”  
  
Grantaire met his eyes and slowly lifted his hand to Enjolras’ face. He let it linger over his soft skin, so close, and for a moment nothing seemed to matter anymore. For a moment, burning felt like the greatest of pleasures. But then distant voices were heard, and the sound of footsteps approaching. It was raining again. Grantaire let his hand fall to his side and Enjolras watched as he quietly made his way out of the room.


End file.
